8 November 2013

Friday evening

All this and asking as well

Contrary to what appears to be believed - I'm not dead yet

Well, it's been an interesting week. There been some exciting moments and some things that have happened that one would not have expected. For example, as you may know, Friday is one of my shower days. A moment that I look forward to as it only comes around two times a week (the shower, not Fridays). And one never knows when one of those times might be superseded by someone else's more important construct or situation. Like the time I was nearly in my wheelchair, literally halfway from the bed to the chair, when a CENA popped her head in the room and announced that suddenly all showers are off as of now.

Why? It seems that when someone from "corporate" arrives on surprise basis to tour the facility. The word is that such demanding chores as helping residents get their carcass cleaned is too demanding of the CENA staff. They need to be out on the floor where they can be visible attending to residents, not hidden away in the shower room dealing with only one person at a time - it just doesn't look good. So my shower was canceled so that we could make a nice impression for some fat guy from out of town. This is not sour grapes speaking. I saw the guy. He literally looks like he could be a double for Norm on the old show Cheers.

Only problem was, I couldn't generate much positive feeling for the man. His general overweight condition did nothing to help my assessment. The lack of any form of neck whatsoever and the fact that his belt was straining mightily against the overwhelming onslaught from his belly region reminded me of too many other people that I've known who exhibits the same physique and yet also project thoroughly self-serving personality. Somehow that self-serving personality aspect matched up perfectly with the fact that my one of two showers per week and been canceled, just so he could be served a false image of how wonderfully busy everyone was.

Today's shower was much more efficient, the CENA helped me remove the leads from a 24-hour heart monitor that I'd been wearing since the day before. Then we proceeded to the shower. Everything went smoothly and I was set up in the shower. Since I have shown proficiency with being able to do most everything by myself, the CENA is free to leave me for a while to attend to other chores. Things like stripping my bed for new linen, getting things that we had forgotten from my room, like clean pair of socks, and on such things.

I noted while the water was running waiting for the pipes to heat up as the water traveled from the water heater to where I was using it, the sound of the water hitting the floor beneath me did not have his usual splatter of drops of water hitting the tiles. It didn't take me long to realize that the sound of water dripping into a gathering puddle of water indicate that it may be the shower drain was running a little slow. Slow enough that the input from the showerhead was overtaking it. I proceeded to soap up and scrub, processing the shampoo through my hair when I began to notice that the water was growing deeper. The water dripping off my seat onto the area beneath me wasn't hitting the tile floor, but rather was adding to the mix of the growing puddle beneath me. I then realized that the water was starting to raise to the area my feet were. The floor of the shower slopes slightly upward to imaginary line bisecting the shower area from the rest of the shower room. The water on the shower stall side of line flows toward the drain any water that flows in the other side of this mentoring line flows out into the larger room itself.

It didn't take me long to realize that if I took my time and delighted in the shower (which is one of the few joys attendent to taking a shower) the slow drain would cause the water to eventually flood the shower room, and as there was no drain in that floor, it would seep under the door out in the hallway. I had no control over what might get into that water in the hallway. Along the far side of the wall was a baseboard heater. I had no idea was electrically run or hot water based. Suddenly the image of some stray source of electricity meeting up with my growing puddle frightened me quite a bit. I proceeded to finish my shower as quickly as possible and turn off the water. I did get clean, although the parts that would normally wait for the CENA to come back and finish for me the parts I cannot reach did not get scrubbed. Somehow that seemed like small enough issue under these conditions.

I was beginning to wonder if my shower might turn into this ?

Or this?

Or some rollers like this ?

What if sand dunes began to form?

Or if exotic livestock appeared?

I managed to finish everything and turn the water off and I noted that slowly the water was lowering in my shower stall. So the drain was not completely stopped up, just running slow. I didn't have any access to a towel at this point but did have two wash clothes provided for me, I had only used one. Realizing that it might take a while to shiver dry, and not wanting to do that, I took the dry washcloth and used it as a miniature towel to at least get most of the water off the surface of me so I would not be losing heat so fast.

The emergency call light cord was just about out of reach. I suppose if it was a real emergency, and I was conscious, I may be able to expend a lot of effort and energy to reach the call light to pull cord, but under these conditions I thought why would I do that? I was clean, I was safe, there had been somewhat of an adventure, but pulling the panic button now would not be of any real service. I could afford to wait.

Not long and I could hear the CENA pressing the lock key code into the door lock from outside, meanwhile exclaiming in a loud voice, "Hey there is water out here, what you doing in there?" As the door opened I could hear by her exclamation that most of the shower room floor was still underwater. Also, the water had been seeping outside the room under the door and was starting to run down the hallway. Suddenly the first chore that needed attention was to grab as many towels as possible so as to throw them on the floor and sop up the water. Problem was that towels are not always stocked in the shower room every day. Or if the stocking had been done it was early enough that most of them had been used by now.

She quickly ran to the linen closet for more towels. She was gone quite some time before she came back, explaining that she had to go down to the second floor and then finally to the laundry room to find more extra large bath sheet type towels. She explained that the woman in the laundry, when she found out why they were being sought so quickly, said so that's why they had so many yesterday. She mentioned that the plastic bag used to collect soiled towels to take them to the laundry, was so heavy that she could hardly lift it.

This is a major clue. Are you paying attention? This clue tells us that yesterday there had been some major water on the floor event that many large towels had also been used to sop it up, and they had made there way to the laundry for processing. Knowing how communication is the first thing to suffer around here, it is an easy stretch to imagine that possibly this drain was running slow yesterday and caused a backup when the towels gave away the situation. Now as we chase this down the inevitable maintenance man, who will get the chore, to see if he has heard of this before. An amazed comment and a negative response will let us know that whoever was overseeing this fiasco previously did not think that it was valuable enough to let anybody know so that would not happen again. It occurs to me that anyone would continue to allow something like this to happen without doing anything to stop it is a candidate for the dumb shit-of-the-week award.

I just can't get over the fact that what seems obvious to me, should seem not so obvious to those who work here, and then I just blown away as to how many times I see this sort of thing not followed up appropriately. There is some CENAs with whom I share my observations about events like this, and they too have a difficult time picturing how some people, who happen to be their peers, fail so miserably in following through on something like this.

I did eventually get dressed, inspected by the nurse to see if my various wounds are healing, set my chair and released upon the facility. The CENA did an excellent job attending to my shower as well as the unexpected facility cleanup. Needless to say, her lunch break was following this episode, and she was eager to go and relax.

Meanwhile, my father's wife was due to come for a visit and bring a nice salad for lunch. I went downstairs, visited with a few people that I normally find down there and made myself ready for my visit - and lunch!

Earlier in the week my father had come to visit. Prior to his arrival I had written a note to his wife, asking if she wouldn't please use her magic to nudge him into completing an errand that he has promised to complete for many times over the last few months that I have been here. This was to bring a couple of my favorite photographs that were saved from my home so that I can hang them here. I had already found from the building manager that would be okay to do and that he would be more than willing to help me. I found out today that my father's wife had gently reminded him by getting my photographs out of wherever he had put them away and put them in large garbage bags, then placed them in the hallway where he had no chance but to see them as he went toward car. Then she made sure to ask if he was going to have any problem carrying them into the car and into building once he got here. He assured her that he could do it and indeed he did. As luck would have it I ran into the same building manager the day after Dad was here with my pictures and he put one of them up on the wall which is at the foot in my bed, where I can lie and look at it with no effort at all. We talked about this over lunch and I told her I was very glad that I written and that she had made the effort to "nudge" dear father in this direction.

It's not much, at least compared to all the other photographs I've done, many of which my younger brother thoughtlessly gave away as he was closing my house, because he didn't want to deal with them at all. I don't know how these were saved, they are couple of my favorites. Now as I take a moment throughout the day and gaze at that photograph opposite me, the memories and thoughts that arise just as a result of seeing that particular photograph are more numerous than most memories I have been entertaining in the months that I have been here.

I have noted that most people treat me as if I'm already dead and gone. That's one of the strange things about long-term illness or disability in this country. It's well known that most of your former friends suddenly are finding themselves "too busy" to take the time to stop and see you, or even write, or call. I would imagine this is about the closest thing to dying without actually leaving the planet. There are few people who come by, even fewer who come by regularly. Many who came by once, have somehow found reason not to be able to come by again. I can't tell you how much this hurts. It's a strange condition to be just as live as you once were but now nearly everything that you used to know is gone. House, savings, investments, the money set aside for retirement, car, friends, nearly all of your possessions, many of those little knickknacks that really did that amount to much, but they were saved because for some silly reason they meant a lot to you.

There are certain things that mean a lot to me. I'm very visual, I had a lot of photographs. Not just snapshots in a shoebox in a closet somewhere, but I had noticed there were things that really attracted me and so I strove to get good representations, well presented, often well framed and hung up on the walls where I could admire them. These gave me inspiration often.

A print ad destined for a magazine cleverly showing the strengths of each hemisphere
catches your attention doesn't it? 

To have a family member, whom you thought would have known you better than they showed they could handle, inform you that you had too much "junk" and that their method of dealing with it for you, at your request, was to throw it out in a dumpster or give it away. That did feel and still feels like having my heart ripped out of me while it's still beating. I wasn't ready to find myself so separated from the things that meant much to me. Little things used to mean a lot to me like, I had printed out once the words to George Harrison's My Guitar Gently Weeps and had them on my refrigerator, held with glass magnets that I had made in my own stained glass studio in the basement. Granted it was just a piece of paper with some ink on it, but I always got a little misty eyed every time I passed that song and read even just one or two lines from the whole thing. That's why it was there. There are the things too, some of which were not even considered. The Grateful Dead song ripple always gives me pause. I cannot hear that on the radio, on one of my iPods, anywhere without the world slowing down in my view expanding infinitely in all directions. Many things that I had collected had this kind of impact on me. How anyone could not see that, not understand, not even try is beyond me.

So the recovery of two of these photographs has done a great deal to encourage my attitude in the months that I've been here. I know that this is basically a rehab facility, people are here for a short while and then move on, usually somewhere else often to a place that they call home. I heard this social worker earlier today talking to a woman about how she's going home to her place over the weekend, and that they're going to coordinate with another agency to make sure that she's being checked on regularly as she acclimates to being in her own home, again. I'm happy for her. And yet hearing those words from around the corner and down the hall, I could not help but think to myself I don't have a home anymore. Everything that I used to have is gone. This is my home now, and I may live another 20 years. I realize after having that missed photograph of mine recovered and hung up on my wall, how much we gain from our surroundings. And if you can decorate a place to your own liking that will sustain you. And I'm here to tell you living in an institutional setting quickly overruns its newness and there is not much to sustain one. Unles you strain to attain the sanitized effect of institutional living.

Grab shot of Photograph recovered
Made over thirty years ago

View of photograph as seen from bed in perspective with the rest of the wall
There is a lot more empty space to fill
Some other photographs needing framing can be seen on table next to television

To some degree I am lucky. I have managed to make myself noxious enough to get some of my family members to regain some of the things that used to belong to me in my own home. For example, in a box over by the entryway to my bathroom (which I am unable to use) in a box full of many knickknacks are all four of my college diplomas. It was fortuitous that those do not get thrown out with some of the other things that I'm missing. They are in good shape and something I have always wanted to do with them when I was at home, but never got a chance to, may come to fruition now. I always wanted to frame all four of them and hang them together. Now these show my acedemic achievement, but it also shows that if you stick to it you can get to the end. Granted this is not exactly the end I envisioned - but it's the one I have available, now. And I would like to get those framed. The building maintenance manager has even said that I can frame them and hang them on the wall in the space above the door transom visible in the picture I'm going to include. I have a packet of the 3M Command product to hang them. All I need now is to get them framed.

Therein is the problem. Due to Medicaid's draconian requirement that people in my position covered by them on nothing of value more than $2000. I did have some of that money but has drained away. So I invite you to do something bold and adventurous. I have begun a PayPal account. As you may know, if you've ever used PayPal, it is a way to send money to someone all you need is their email address. Since Medicaid does allow people to give small gifts or things in kind, this in no way stretches anybody's rools . I'm going to put it out there and ask anyone who would like to to donate any sum that they feel comfortable with through my PayPal account. I am going to try and get enough funding to purchase framing for my diplomas so they can be hung up and appreciated. Just knowing they're there in the box is one thing. It will be quite another to see them protected and displayed proudly for one in all to acknowledge. Seeing them displayed like that will be of tremendous boost to my sense of attitude and who I am. The next step will be to find somebody who will be willing to take them to and from the framing store so that this can be accomplished.

I imagine most facilities like this one have the right intent at heart. However, the journey from at heart to being completely accomplished often causes a huge diminuation in the original intent. I'm saddened to find out how many people are willing to put up with such losses. That attitude never served me well at all. It is half the reason how I got behind getting so many Degrees in the first place. I do not wish to succumb to the general attitude of so many around here just to get along. I'm looking at too many years of having to lose myself in such a gradual, diminished fashion. If people are not familiar with how PayPal works, go to PayPal.com, they have an excellent set of webpages instructing on how this works. My email address is mrmeta4@voyager.net

This feels awkward, but under these conditions, I am no longer allowed to work and am scrambling to find some way to put my talents to use. If I factor it out there is nothing wrong with asking for help, and the results to be gained by feeling a part of a community. That will go along way in these conditions where the community is so conditional, and so antithetical to what I used to be. I am not used to quantifying what I do against some economic scale and then deciding that it cannot be done because it's too costly. There is more to interacting with people than the economics of pecuniary materialism. I'm looking at too many good years to live like somebody else that is so foreign to me. Asking is hard, somehow we tend to believe that it belittles us. It doesn't. It is an honest act brought right out into the open. I have paid for nearly everything I wanted. It was my nature and how I was raised. Asking for something and getting it some seemed as if I had done something slimy and socially improper. But now I am existing under certain rules that preclude me from earning anything, or I run afoul of those rules and those earning can and will be taken from me. Suddenly the very thing that was that the at the core of my being is now not to be done. If I play the game according to these strange rules I might as well be amoung the unburied dead whom Medicaid creates and encourages. I am free to involve myself in hobbies, thing I have done before, but as you may recall, most of my equipment, tools and work equipment has so thoughtlessly been disposed of by my younger brother. Most of my camera equipment, stained glass tools, books are all gone now. The only thing I have left is a chance at a clean start and the inability to earn my way to the new beginning. I'm not ready to live a life that seems to be straight out of the Twilight Zone.

Strangeness may be closer than it appears

3 November 2013

Sunday evening

Still I find myself here,

   no better off, contrary to everyone's mistaken belief

I ought to write, its been a while. I did the free system upgrade that Apple offered back on the 19^th of October. It does add some neat little features and some mighty nice big ones. But there was one drawback – my speech dictation program won't even mount. I checked their website and was led to believe that the newest upgrade will and won't work. I called the toll free line to get the straight answer. But like so many events in the world today, straight answers are relative. I should know better, especially if the exchange of money is involved. If that is involved then truth is usually the casualty, and people (like me) are more like collateral damage.

I was told that the new software was great, I could do so much more with it. Golly-Whizzbang stuff. So I sent off some money. That money was hard to let go of, I have so little any more. Not only am I institutionally made and kept poor (such is the way of being swept up into the Medicaid system) but family seem bent on becoming exceptionally stingy under these conditions. This never used to be their nature, so it has been a shock to see the change that has come over them lately.

The software arrived to great anticipation. I unwrapped the package and loaded the disk. The machine hummed and did all of the work itself. The moment arrived to see how the attributed wonderfulness took shape. It didn't.

I clicked the icon, everything proceeded, then a pop up window appears telling me that this newer version of the speech dictation software doesn't work with the latest version of the OSX. Damn! Lied to once again, or at least sweetly encouraged to believe what the corporation wanted me to believe. It was Friday, late enough that a phone call wouldn’t do anything anyway. I checked the web site, only more pages of how the latest version of the speech dictation program is needed with OX 10.9 Well, that is what I have - and it still isn't working. I have had to go for weeks without writing, waiting for the new software, now it is here and I still have to poke out the letters one at a time.

I used to type like the wind. Back when I could sit upright before the keyboard in the correct ergonomic position. That is all gone now, as is my nice big 24” iMac which rests at my brother's house about ten minutes away. There is no place for it here. He said that he would make a support frame to hold it next to my bed – ten months ago now! No frame, no computer, and hardly any brother visits. He begs of that he's too busy, or his feet hurt, or … You get the picture.

I hate being lied to. Most advertising does just this. Although those in that business will call it enhancing the positives. One of the curious things about words is that they are very powerful in that the can develop pictures in our minds, good authors make good use of this. So too can advertisers, to the disadvantage of those being pitched to. Most of us in this culture have been subjected to advertising to the point that many of us have unconsciously picked up how the techniques are used. The problem with this is that it becomes very easy to lose track of the fact that the other person is a human being, not an object to be convinced, manipulated and influence.

This has occurred to such a full range as to change the way most people speak to one another, and to some degree the way they think about one another as well. For if you consider for a moment our speaking is often indicative of how we think. Many people don't catch this and so their speech often belies what is rolling about inside of them.

This morning I noticed that my briefs did not survive the night unviolated, although this is exactly what they were designed to do. So I asked the CENA this morning when breakfast was delivered if I could, after breakfast, have a brief clean up with a washcloth and a new brief? No problem, I was told, after the breakfast trays were collected. The person who delivered my tray was not the one who collected the tray when I was finished … about the time the lunch trays were to be delivered. It was the first shift nurse bringing my first medications of the day, she took the tray away. I told her of the brief that still had yet to be changed. She said she would remind the CENA.

Second shift began and I grew weary of waiting so I rested my eyes and found myself waking a few hours later. I pressed the call light and after forty minutes a CENA came by to see what I wanted. I told her of the briefs and that every time I peeled the covers back to use the urinal, the ammonia fumes about knocked me out. She said she would be right back. No one came back and I grew sleepy again so I soon fell asleep. Dinner arrived with a different CENA. I restated my wish to have the now completely sodden briefs changed. She informed me that she will let my CENA know, then left.

[Apparently the CENAS do help one another out during the shift with some chores like passing and later collecting meal trays, but when it comes to actually working hands on with a resident the boundaries are suddenly strictly observed as to which resident is on which CENA's care list for the day.] With all of the, “I'll get your CENA.” talk going on there must be a lot of forgetting going on, either on the part of the message bearer or the receiver. Either way I spent most of Sunday in soaked briefs.

By the time the CENA assigned to me arrived to see if I was okay in bed for the night, one of the duties of the second shift crew I was ready for the Easy Stand to lift me to the commode to release a bowel. Now it would be easy to effect a change of briefs as I would be vertically suspended for a while. In the course of using the easy stand and sitting on the commode, I personally experienced which easy stand to use as only one of them any more had the required chest strap that holds the victim resident securely in position while being lifted (no one has been able to find the missing strap, oh you mean like the one that has been left languishing over there in a corner of my room? No, that one is for the legs.) A borrowing of the battery pack from the Easy Stand I was using to power the other Easy Stand temporarily as its battery was dead. There was a comment on how the corporation no longer had chocolate to mix in with the coffee (the coffee is beyond drinkable by itself). The latest box of tissues is an even cheaper variety than the brand used before, this variety has all the softness of newspaper. For lunch today two hot dogs were served, the only condiment was salt and pepper, I considered the hot dogs to be salty enough. Dinner was meatloaf, the CENA offered to find some catsup packets, none were offered with the meal. The CENA's are talking, complaining really, about how this outfit used to have more CENAs per resident, now with the high resident ratio to CENAs more of them are getting hurt on the job. Ah yes, and the more residents per CENA the frustration of the CENA's mounts as many of them would like to do a good job, but they are too harried to do that. And the more the CENA's have difficulty helping the residents, the longer the response to the call lights the more unhappy the residents become. I hear it every day as more residents are cursing the staff for taking so long to respond tom the call light.

This does not even take into consideration the complaints about the food since the kitchen has been shifted to a different company. Yes, it has been a long slow slide into oblivion, a state of being degraded and forgotten which few people can see what is occurring or do not have the will to make any adjustments any more. Seems as if this were coming from several different points of causation but no one wants to stand up and do anything to stop it. I point out the problem to one and all, but if they aren't listening, for whatever reason, the assurance is that nothing will get done. Somehow I suddenly feel expendable. As long as this facility gets its money, nothing will change. As long as the software vendors get their money they will coast on their past as long as possible. As long as the CENAs continue to receive no clear support from the company and see their cohorts slacking off without recourse, the will just hunker down until they can no longer take the demands and the poor level of care to which they are subjected.

I used to see this sort of activity going on, but I had the ability to take myself to another situation. Now I no longer can move of my own volition. I require help to get out of bed and into a wheelchair. For months I could no receive permission to even go out side of the building. If I get out side there is nowhere to go. I need special transportation to travel anywhere. The overall message is that I am a burden to just about everyone for most of my activities of daily living and many of them dislike having to provide me with even this. If I am not seen as a burden, then I am some rube destined to be descended upon by those who see in me a purse with limited funds that they figure is theirs only in waiting for the moment to make those monies find their way to them.

I must be good at disguise for very few see me as a human being. Or maybe they have a difficult time showing it.

Let's hope for a better week ahead.

23 October 2013

Wednesday

Seeking sanity in an insane situation

Maybe I can try to be like my dog

I had been told, in an off hand way, almost as if in casual discussion last evening by the second shift nurse that sometime in the near future – in the next week or so, another blood test was scheduled for me. That was it.

This morning I awoke before breakfast was brought forth. Cleared the tray table of some of its collected accumulation and put it beside me on the bed temporarily, as the CENAs bring the breakfast just appear holding a full tray. Without much in the way of discussion they stand there impassively waiting forme to make ready a landing zone for this tray. If I take too long or haven't had the place ready by the time they arrive, I get to hear all sorts of comments about how the tray is heavy, they still have a lot of trays to deliver or other comments designed to alleviate some of the discomfort they are feeling. These comments ring with some of the same thinly disguised cover used by many people who want you to know something they believe would make their job easier, but they don’t want to come out and directly tell you.

I had the area clear and still the breakfast was late in arriving. Usually the breakfasts arrive about quarter to eight, with regularity. Except once in a while they are delivered at nine fifteen. No idea why, it just seems that maybe the kitchen got behind or some thing.

This was one of those late days. Breakfast arrived about nine twenty, no comments made. I began to eat. I had just taken the last bite when a knock on the closed door announced that someone wished to enter. The door opens and I recognize the phlebotomist from the hospital, she has drawn blood from me before. She sees the tray in front of me and asks if I have finished eating. Thinking that she was asking as she didn’t want to do her work and bother me, I cheerfully said, “Just took the last bite, come in.” With great disappointment in her voice she indicated that this one is supposed to be a fasting blood draw.

I indicated that I was told last night that there would be another blood draw sometime, but fasting or when was never mentioned. She said that they schedule the fasting blood draws for Wednesdays at this facility's request.

No one ever told me.

She indicated that we will have to do this next Wednesday.

After she left, I asked every CENA who came in my room what about fasting blood draws on Wednesday. None of them had heard anything about it, the nurse came in with my morning medications, I asked her. She knew nothing about it. I mentioned my meeting with the phlebotomist, she didn't know that I was scheduled for a blood draw. Hmmm, it is becoming obvious that one of the big problems I have noticed around here is a big lack of communication. Then i started to wonder if the sometimes late delivery of breakfast didn't correlate to the Wednesday fasting blood draw. Maybe the kitchen knows but the CENAS and nurses are not in on the secret. Strange way to run a facility …

Later one of the physician assistants stops by to check on me and have a chat regarding last Fridays near shower event and being very light headed. He listens to my heart, tells me that the EKG showed no problems. We chat a while, I give him a lot of anecdotal details around the event, including the night before it was a little cool and I was just slightly chilled. I can't stay too warm as the MS makes my muscles very spastic if I am too warm. I was just at that barely not comfortable stage. My body wanted to do a light shiver, but the MS makes that not happen. Instead I get what seems like a start to a shiver but the muscles contract then don't release. But contract even more, like doing isometric exercises. After a thirty or forty second clench my muscles would relax. Maybe two minutes later in would occur again. Another contraction, then hard for another half minute. This happened several times before I went to sleep. I noticed that my muscles ached as if I had been working out too hard or there was lactic acid in them from working. When I mentioned that the CENAs approached me that morning before breakfast, instead of after as was usual. The physicians assistant put some clues together to arrive at a plausible cause/scenario.

Due to the use of my muscles the night before I had probably depleted the glycogen stored in my muscles for instant use. Normally breakfast would replenish blood sugar and provide fuel. The before breakfast start for a shower preempted that and I began to slide into not having had enough in my system to meet the demands placed on it. Seems to fit the clues better than anything else.

They keep looking at my blood sugar – at the right range and stable. Blood pressure – not deemed to be a problem. My heart rate – no problems seen there. Electrolytes are good. I just seem to be an enigma no mater where they look. The same seems to be true of trying to understand my thought process and behaviors, I am just too enigmatic from the staff who deal with me on a regular basis to figure out, for some strange reason I just don't take pleasure in the same things they think I should.

This evening the CENA assigned to me this evening told me that she needed to get my weight. Now, the only manner that I can be weighed is to use the one (of two) Easy Stands that has a built in scale and lift me out of bed. I told her we could make one lift job do double duty in that when she first got me up she could take the weight reading, then rather than reposition me right back in bed, she could park me on the commode, - leave me a while and maybe with time and gravity a bowel might drop. She agreed. When I was secured on the commode with the Easy Stand still strapped to me she asked if I could be alone for a few minutes as she had to finish passing out ice water to the residents. The call light was left where I could reach it if necessary. She left. A few minutes later another CENA poked her head in the door and asked if she could borrow that, nodding toward the machine. I indicated that I was somewhat attached to it right now. She said no, that she meant the battery. She detached the battery and left, saying she will be right back. Shortly after she left my CENA returned. She could not lift, clean me or put me to bed as the machine was now without any source of power. I told her the other CENA took the battery and said that she would bring it right back. My CENA went to look for her.

I'm sitting there, on the commode, strapped to a now useless lifting machine,with nowhere to go. I muse over the events of the day.

Is this anyway to run a facility? Lack of decent communication so that not everyone knows what is going on at the same time so that things can run smoothly. Are those kate breakfast starts by design or happenstance? To someone not of the system (like me)does this inspire confidence and instill a relaxed healthy rehabilitative atmosphere” does anyone have an idea why such a supportive condition might possibly be desired? Does anyone understand the significance of reducing stress and the resulting cortisol for everyone concerned? Does anyone care about such things? Do they know that they could, that it might make a lot of things better all the way around?

Why am I here?

20 October 2013

Sunday ...finally

This is no way to treat anyone

I certainly wouldn't book a stay in this hotel again

Sunday evening, and I have survived through the weekend. Not easily, mind you. It begin with difficulty Friday morning. Friday is one of my two shower days every week. I usually get a shower after breakfast sometimes at 9:30 sometimes at 10:30 almost 11 AM. I love showers. Since I only get only two a week, they are particu;arly joyful to me.This last particular Friday two CENAs arrived at my bedside at 7 AM to wake me up and inform me that they were going to get me my shower right now, so as to make a better working schedule for them, so they wouldn't be quite so crowded the latter part of their shift. Don't overlook the fact that this is the first I had word of this change in their work schedule, apparently no one ever figured on consulting with me earlier on this little foray into adjusting working arrangements.

I was a little groggy and explained that I hadn't quite awakened yet, they said that would be all right, they were ready. They opened the door and proceeded to draw in the Easy Stand machine which is used to get me out of bed and into the wheelchair. Having turned back the sheets and exposed me to the cooler air and twisted my feet out of bed so that I was now sitting over the edge of the bed, ready to be laced into the machine, I felt like an old boot having been laced up for a work day. I was ready to be hoisted. That was when the battery showed that it was nearly out of charge. No problem they went and got another battery. However, there was a problem, it too was without charge. They had a grand idea and they went to commandeer a battery out of another machine that was being used. When they came back with big grins and the other battery, at once they slapped it into the machine that I was attached to, it too failed to work. Finally they got another complete machine and hoisted me into my wheelchair with that.

In case you're keeping score that's 3 dead batteries to achieve what the 4th one and a different machine actually was able to do. The batteries are supposed be charged overnight and as this was seven in the morning, one would assume that they were done with the charging. I don't know if somebody is falling down on the job or the batteries are of the old rechargeable type and have gained a false bottom, in that case they could be charged all night long and nothing would really change.

After experiencing this kind if event more than once, the feeling begins to grow on you that the whole affair, this whole place is way past being efficient and top notch. It is probably past its prime, both in building and equipment. I watch some of the CENAs having to work with this crummy equipment and I see them recognize that they are not the only ones being put in an impossible situation. Some stay as they need the job, others move on to school or another job. They are glad to get out. I don't have that option. To me that shows that they have some consciousness about themselves, the work they have to do, and the people for whom they provide care. They must feel as terrible about putting me through this stuff as I do submitting to it.

At this point I began to be aware of a sense in my stomach and an uneasy feeling. Nothing seemed very settled, I seemed to have the uneasy, queasy feeling that anytime now I might be adding to the slop on the floor for the housekeeping department to clean up.

Once in the shower room, which can be very crowded, it is not big enough for 2 CENAs a resident, a wheelchair and the lift machine. Once again I am being strapped in a lift machine to be removed from my wheelchair, placed in the shower chair, an ABS plastic device designed to hold the resident and be wheeled into the shower. Yet once again the battery began to fail on this machine and I was barely lifted into the shower chair before it ceased working. The only problem was that the CENAs had positioned me too far back in the chair and I did not have a good position. The 2 CENAs decided that they could try and lift me up again and move me slightly forward, except the battery has now given up the ghost. They tried, they pushed, they pulled they did everything but get a bunch of levers to pry me about the seat just a little bit. By now the queasy feeling in my stomach has escalated. I no longer feel like I'm going to get sick, I am getting very lightheaded. The 2 CENAs decide amongst themselves that maybe they might be able to affect my shower even though I am not seated adequately in the chair. At this point I am becoming so lightheaded, but I can hardly keep myself upright in a chair using my arms. I start to flop forward and they become concerned and that I might fall right out of chair onto the floor.

The emergency call light is is activated to call the nurse in. At this point I am no longer able to sit upright and keep my eyes open. I can hear all the activity in the room and someone calls for another nurse, in turn the call goes out in the overall shift nurse also comes in. Remember, this room is not big enough for 2 nurse aides, a resident and all the machinery necessary. Now we're adding 3 more nurses - Party in the shower room and i'm the only one naked!

Several people are shouting at me and calling my name and trying to get me to wake up. Voices demanding that I open my eyes and look at her, which I can do for about 2 seconds of time. Meanwhile I have no desires, I have no idea what's up. It doesn't bother me that I'm stripped naked in front of 5 different women. All I wanted to lay down. After much questioning, some of which was quite accusatory (remember hearing his last thing to go when you fall asleep or even when you go under general anesthetic, everything else seems to shut down but your hearing is still there right up until the bitter end). With some of those accusatory comments I could hear the voice and I can name the person. Those words and that attitude they present continued to echo in my mind. I lost control of my bladder sphyncter and peed all over the floor, got some of myself too.

Eventually it was determined that there was going to be nothing to get me cognizant enough to have a shower so they might as well get me dressed then back into bed. A large class of orange juice was produced for me to drink. The nurses left and the comment was made that I should be rinsed off, toweled dry, dressed and taken back to bed. The other CENA had left the room by now. Only the one CENA remained. She turned on the water valve to the shower, without waiting for the hot water to arrive from the first floor where the water heater lives to the third floor where I am, she immediately takes the shower head in hand and proceeds to “rinse” me off. I could only make gutteral sounds, not speak. My muscles were spastic and uncoordinated as I growed and tried to fend off the cold water from its application to my now chilled body. Just as suddenly as it happened the liquid assualt was over. As I was slowly dressed and loaded back into my wheelchair , I continued to sip the orange juice. Wonder of wonders! This time the battery seem to work in the Easy Stand.

As this unfolded I felt like some newly discovered specimen that had never been seen before. At no time did I feel met and acknowkedged as a fellow human being. Instead I was approached at a less than human level, hosed off and disposed of.

When I got back into bed I was exhausted all I wanted to do was sleep. About 90 min. later my breakfast was produced. This is not strange as I take most of my breakfasts while in bed. Between the sleep that I had and the orange juice, I maintained enough conscious ability to eat the breakfast without spilling any and making a mess. I proceeded to go back to sleep and slept all way until lunch. Which again was presented on the tray table that can be pushed up to me so the meal can be presented right in front of me while still in bed. Again back to sleep where I slept solidly until about 3 in the afternoon.

Meanwhile, I had been aware of a growing sinus headache since around 11 o'clock that morning. I had made a request for some Excedrin and a Claritin. Half an hour later another CENA came in to check on me and I restated my request for the medication. Another half hour after that nothing had arrived so I got my phone and called the front desk, to be transferred back up to 3rd for nursing station where I requested of the nurse who answered that I'd put in a request for some Excedrin and Claritin over an hour ago, and I still hadn't seen anything yet. I was informed that the nurse had been told and she will be reminded again. Finally, at a quarter after one the nurse arrived with my Excedrin and Claritin. Only this time she brought only one Excedrin, not 2.

This nurse and I went through this issue once before. For some stupid reason she believes that she knows better than me or the doctor who prescribed the standing authorization of the medicine upon my request. She believes that she knows best what I need and since I have no way to get the medication myself, she gives me just exactly what she thinks I need. She and I have been round and round about this before. I don't know what her problem is. In the end she comes across very passive - aggressive. She acts very nice nice and at the same time she delights in using her authority to use her power to be very mean and punitive. It appears that once again she is doing the same behavior. Hers was the voice making those accusatory statements in the shower room, by the way ...

I remember when I was going into nursing care for the 1st time. I told my father that I did not want to go into a facility that treated everybody the same, at a very low level, and took away your humanity and reduced you to an object so that you are not cared for but rather in this way reduced you to where you were more warehoused.

He assured me that would not happen. At the time I remember thinking, how can you guarantee that? You won't even be there. You'll stop in occasionally and think everything is just fine. Meanwhile, I'll get the horrors of healthcare as delivered by an organization is guded by stockholders. And you know stockholders - the only thing they can see is that dividends are going up. And you know why the dividends are going to go up, corners are going to be cut. All the finer things, the stuff I have worked for, the level Ihave taken for granted or have worked so hard to gain will be snapped right away. I will be reduced to the common level what is considered good enough for everybody, and if I raise a protest or act differently I will be singled out as what's wrong with you? Please, dad, don't promise the things that you can't control. I'm a big boy now, the time for you to make everything okay just by saying so is passed. I know how the world works. If it is good enough for some bookkeeper type, it will be considered appropriate for me.

So over time I began to realize that I have indeed entered into a world where some people under the guise of offering care, really reduce people to less than human, and they don't even see it, nor the part they are playing in causing this to happen.

I spent most of my weekend sleeping, partly because I needed to regain my strength from the harrowing shower episode. And partly because there's actually nothing to do.

Even the meals have proven less than wonderful. Every month they give us a menu so that we can participate in choosing what we'd like to have at each meal, except that nobody ever takes your requests, and if they do you are met with all that menu is made up months ago we don't actually have that food right now. Just today, Sunday, 20 October, lunch was to be turkey tetrazzini, broccoli, creamy carrot soup. What actually arrived was tomato soup, a grilled cheese sandwich and a very small bowl of diced peaches. The alternate was a chef salad. I don't believe that I have actually had a chef salad here, although it had been quite often at the other facility. Chef salad is not bad. You can make a meal from a chef salad. Not this place. They are so niggardly on portions. A chef salad would be considered grand, so I have never seen one.

For dinner the menu for tonight says salad with tomatoes and cucumbers Italian dressing, stuffed pepper, green beans, and a dinner roll. Instead what was sent out was chopped up lettuce (no tomatoes or cucumbers), Pan Seared Swai (don't know what Swai is? Think cheap fish with no flavor), they were accompannied by instant mashed potatoes and a spoonful of green beans. I would've loved to have a stuffed pepper, I have had them here before, they are not half bad. I don't know why the kitchen decided to have a fit and send the alternative, but once again they've chosen the most dull, tasteless ill appetizing food - as per usual.

Sometimes I wonder who have I offended to consistantly be treated this way? Do these people get their jollies from being so oblique about serving food to those who can't leave. Does the food cart leave the kitchen for the residents accompanied by muffled guffaws and covered sniggers from the kitchen staff? What a bunch of cards!

When I asked the CENA later this evening what everybody else had, she said stuffed pepper. When I told her what I had, that I would have loved the stuffed pepper, she told me that I should have requested the pepper dish, implying that they would have sent the other meal. I told her I have tried that several times before and was always met with the response that there is no more other dish – we're all out. I've stopped requesting, as the kitchen doesn't seem able or willing to work with me on that issue. Somewhere there is a stockholder smiling …. Meanwhile its midnight and I'm hungry.

Meanwhile I have always made do with some snacks that friends have brought by for me.

Lately I am out of snacks. I requested of the activities person before if she would make a small purchase at the grocery store for me when she is next out and about. She has done this for me, and it has worked out well. But now I'm out of even peanut butter. I had asked her two weeks ago, but she said she was not scheduled to work the shopping day, but as a favor to me she would pick up a jar of peanut butter on her own time and get it to me.

No peanut butter has been forthcoming that I can see – yet. (there is always hope)

Last week was another time to get my request in for a shopping trip, I had my cash in my pocket and could never find her to ask for some snack foods. Two weeks now I am without extra eats. And the kitchen sends up what ever they want, minimalist portions too.... I didn't treat myself this poorly when I could cook for myself. I'm having a hard time getting used to this style of life now.

When I was living at home I had my retirement stipend from the county when I used to do court work. It wasn't much but it was more than enough to meet my costs every month. I always ate well, and never went to bed hungry. Even at that I managed to lose one hundred eighty pounds in one year. The trick is to eat when hungry and stop when you are not. I ate about six small meals every day, right up until I went to bed. My doctor was pleased, I was happy, and I never felt as if I was missing anything.

Now that I have been instilled into nursing care, the quality of food is lousy, it only arrives when they are going to bring it and only what they want to provide, and these people instist that they need just a little more than my stipend every month to provide this lower level of care. I seriously think something is wrong here but no one seems to be able to understand that. Somehow everything I mention gets discounted the moment they hear it. In their mind they are doing everything right. No one semms able to hear me clearly yet.

There is a very strong implied message here. I get the message loud and clear, everyone else, it seems, is marching to a different tune, one that I can't quite understand. (maybe I wouldn't want to) The longer I am here the more I experience little events that show me I am not made for a place like this. It isnot as overt and in your face as the last place, they didn'teven try to hide their disapproval. Here its all not seen or not quite fully understood. They have tried, asking me what would I like to do. It is not as easy as that. There is no woods here, no way to lose myself in nature when ever I needed to get connected with reality again. Don't tell me anything related to people is going to be real, they can't help but to insert themselves in there somehow, thats not real - only what some people delude themselves to be real. Not enough people have looked into themselves deeply enough to show they understand what real is. I suppose I need a cross between a Bhuddist retreat and a nursing home, one where care for ALL sentient beings is the standard. Not where you can be hosed off with cold water after you are deemed unable to take a shower. (I hope that is not considered standard offering to all residents)

Well, its past midnight, I'm hungry and breakfast is eight hours away. I should go now.

Saturday
5 October 2013

More of the same intellectual foolishness

why am I reminded of the Keystone Cops?

Yesterday was my second scheduled shower day, I was looking forward to it. My briefs hadn't been changed in two days (for a different reason). I don't care how careful one is while urinating while supine, there is always some drainage once the sphincter muscle closes. This is in part why females can be very insistent on having toilet paper available when using the facilities and little boys learn the rhyme, “That no mater how much you may shake and dance the last few drops go in your pants.”

Its a consequence of anatomy and gravity intersecting at this juncture, after a long day of making sure I remain hydrated sufficiently, the medical people fumbling about with various diuretics to reduce my blood pressure, there has been more than my fair share of my own form of “uretics” that have no where else to go but my briefs and to some small degree my lower abdomen. Now, I am told by some CENAs that I can request a bed bath at any time, and this does help clear up the feeling of being steeped in my own juices, like an overused teabag. But there is nothing like running water cascading all over you to convey the sensation of approaching being truly clean. And the fact that through no reason of my own cause, I am authoritatively assigned two showers per week. It is not just me, everyone is awarded only two cleansing showers per week, just as prisoners are afforded. I guess if that is good enough for individuals who have been adjudicated in a court of law, then what standing do I have that this might by somewhat niggardly of an approach toward my wanting to “closer to Godliness?”

So yesterday I was feeling somewhat vile, odious, filthy even, I was ready for a shower, eagerly anticipating the mildly tepid water that we are allowed. The water temperature is regulated before it even gets to the tap and the mixing valve for the same reason the coffee here is so bad and it is impossible to make a decent cup of tea as well, there is this absolute fear and loathing that someone may get burned. It started with various corporation's counsel after that famous case where the elderly California woman burned herself with a cup of coffee bought from MacDonald s drive through window. She sued MacDonald s for damages, it made the news, the late night comedians all made great fun of the issue. While we all were being treated to a laugh fest about being clumsy with a hot beverage, those of a more legal and busybody mind began to swing into action to save us all from ourselves from ever getting burned ever again. Ah, there is nothing like the self appointed Nanny effect to bring those who favor fancying themselves as looking out for the public good. Now, not only do facilities such as this have built in safety measures that make sure we will never be harmed by overly warmed water ever touching any part of our bodies, but state legislatures are not to be outdone. There are regular surprise inspections to determine if everyone is playing by the guidelines the state has so thoughtfully determined to be so very safe for various kinds of water applications to these fragile bodies. Good Lord, I am sure now we won't fry or melt.

It amazes me that they could give any broken fecal material if we ever have a warm, steaming hot shower ever again, or a good cup of coffee, or tea. No! That causes no one any concern whatsoever, why after all they even make laundry soap that is supposed to work effectively in cold water – so what's my problem?

It is just that after discovering the wonders of some of the more gentle and delightfully wonderful aspects that could be enjoyed in life, and spending most of my adult life securing and enjoying them, suddenly they have changed the upper limits limits for me. No matter what I try or how I conduct myself, these items are continually and most possibly forever being withheld from me. If I challenge the rationale behind such acts, I am told with the straightest of faces that it is either in my best interests or it is against facility rules or state law or both. Sheesh! Talk about feeling small, powerless and ganged up upon …

So, Friday I was looking forward to one of my only twice a week opportunities to get clean per week. I was helped from my bed by a new CENA with the aid of a machine known as an

Easy Stand. My wheelchair was at the ready. My selection of clean clothing had been selected and already carried down to the shower room, awaiting my entry and subsequent shower. I was literally dangling in mid air, between the bed and the wheelchair when there was a knock at the door. Another CENA poked her head in the room and announced that the word had just come down that the order was being sent up and down the hallway that there were to be no more showers begun from now on, until further notice.

The CENA working with me protested, that we were just on our way down there, my clothing and toilet articles are down there waiting for us. “That doesn't matter”, we were told, higher ups are in the building and our administrators don't want any showers going on.

The CENA working with me apologized to me, (even though we both knew it was not her fault) then stripped off my two day old, odious briefs and put on some new ones. I was fitted with some shorts and shoes, I was still wearing my T shirt from Wednesday (I'm still wearing that one now, today its Saturday afternoon). I was placed in my wheelchair ready to greet the day as if a shower had already been effected. Maybe other people are fooled by such subterfuge, but I know better. The thought that I am going out even within the halls of this place wearing unscrubbed skin, left since last Tuesday's shower is somewhat disconcerting. This is on Friday. As I write now on Saturday I feel even more unapproachable by those who have been able to pass soap and water over themselves. Talk about feeling a part of the “Great Unwashed”, ugh.

I rolled my wheelchair out and down the hall, pressed the elevator button and could subtly hear some of the verbal commotion coming from the floor below. A sure sign that something was going on down there that necessitated someone holding the elevator doors open, and thus the elevator wouldn't be arriving anytime soon.

Often when I am riding down the elevator and it does stop at that floor, the doors would open and several people will be sitting in wheelchairs clustered around the doorway to the elevator, close enough so that if anyone wishes to get off at that floor, they can't do so as there is nowhere to step. Often the people clustered near the door are having “issues” with one another, trading insults and invectives with each other like impudent children. Many of these folks do not hesitate to include others, including yourself, into their little special abusive contumelies, if you are unfortunate to be nearby. Further from the door is a gentleman with an unknown (to me) difficulty. He never speaks but is often vocal. He makes growling sounds which seem to have some kind of meaning to him, often with some long term observation of his behaviors, some of his vocalizations/behaviors begin to show some meaning. But whatever he is trying to say, it gets repeated ad infinitum until it loses all sense and meaning. Through the closed doors of the third floor elevator I could hear this tumult rising up from the second floor.

Listening to this brouhaha the thought occurred to me that I don't even sing in the shower, yet I had to forfeit my shower for some bigwig, high mucky-muck to not be disturbed while doing a surprise inspection? Boy, I hope the sacrifice was worth it. Whatever the result I can be assured that my sacrifice has been long since forgotten by now. I should be soaking wet by this time, soap cascading over the entire surface of me, reaffirming my able part in gentile community. Instead I am captive here in Bedlam due to the fact that I have a neurological disease and this is the only place that everyone believes I need to be. I certainly don't understand, I really feel completely misunderstood myself.

The elevator takes me down to the ground floor. The second floor rumbling disturbance passes behind doors that don't open on this pass, thankfully. I roll up near the reception desk,make my greetings and sit for a while, able to see normal people – at least more normal than the rest of the people I get to see here all day. Various family members and friends of residents come in and out. Service providers come and go. It is a relief to sense their different sense of who they are as they come into the building. Most of the employees give off a different feeling. Many have the sense of just scraping by until the next paycheck, or trying to stay away from too much scrutiny for now.

Someone new to me comes down the stairwell and out into the lobby. He has dark hair, next to no neck and his white shirt is distended quite a bit over his belt, which looks as if it had given the better part of its functional life for a thankless cause. He is carrying a case type clipboard into which he places papers and retrieves others. He is wearing one of the company name tags on a cord around his ample neck. Several people speak to him informally, he responds in kind. There is no sense that anything is wrong. He says thank you and leaves out the front door.

I turn to the receptionist (who seems to be aware of everything going on in the building) and ask quietly, is that the reason everyone was walking on egg shells?

Yep.

Well, I certainly hope my giving up my shower was worth it to everybody. Personally, right off the bat I am not too impressed, maybe it is because he shares the same physique as my younger brother. Possibly there is some transference going on here. I am not very appreciative of fellows who are that overweight. And I'm still feeling unclean.

Back upstairs I find my lunch tray waiting on my bed. I roll up to it and pull the tray onto my knees, then proceed to eat my lunch. Ten minutes later I am done (the portions are small – I continue to lose weight, in spite of extreme inactivity). I find the food cart with the trays on it, a CENA thanks me and takes the tray to place it somewhere until the full food trays are completely removed, then the cart becomes the collection cart gathering up the empties to return to the kitchen.

As it grows close to two o'clock and the end of the shift, the CENA from this morning and the aborted shower finds me and apologizes for not being able to accomplish the shower today. She assures me that she feels really bad about the way things worked out. But, she does work both Saturday and Sunday, she will move everything to get me a shower then, is that okay?

She hasn't worked here enough to know that will never happen, I realize that she would like to do that, she is even willing to do that, but I would be very surprised if she will get a chance to do what she offers. I know that even if she is due to work those days, once they come on the floor the CENAs working on that shift break down the number of residents on their floor by the number of CENAs working that shift so that they each have even number to care for. The resident numbers are down now so recently there have been three rather than four CENAs per shift. The chance that she will get to work the section in which in I reside is small. Folks that work with me also get to work with my neighbor – he is always difficult to work with. He argues, always takes a negative point of view, even if it is not to any advantage. He insists on being intolerable. He insults anyone, he doesn't care. Complains vociferously and loudly. If one where to try to motivate him by saying that he is hurtful and mean, he says “Good, now get out!”

The advantage to having to deal with Joe, next door, is that the same CENAs also get to work with me. Joe just requires attention in the morning, getting up out of bed – and at night getting back into bed. That is when he most often swears at the CENAs and is so unreasonable. First and second shift each get a wrestling match with an undesirable character. The rest of the time they like to stop and hang out in my room.

Sure enough this morning she was on staff but not assigned to me. I saw her briefly helping (receiving valuable experience with another CENA how to survive working with my neighbor). Through my open door, our eyes met briefly. She had that knowing look that gave the impression that she realized that she couldn't get to giving me a shower today. I smiled equally knowingly to her, “Welcome to organized Bedlam – watch your sanity.”

I know that several CENAs have told me that I should be able to get a bed bath any time I want. Sounds like something from the depths of the CENA-Resident interface handbook. Something they are supposed to know but no one ever actually says out loud. I have asked for a bed bath a couple of times while I was getting used to only one shower every three or four days. Only a couple of CENAs undertook such a task very willingly, usually such an effort was best engaged early in the morning. By the time ten–thirty rolls around their focus is on moving toward lunch duties, and after that the emphasis of their efforts is toward getting lunch picked up. Finishing their charting of behaviors, passing out shift waters, then leaving. Chances of getting washed up quickly disintegrate once the opportunity for the planned shower has passed.

Afternoon shift has a whole 'nother set of residents whom they are expected to shower, and there are only two single occupancy shower rooms on this floor. Right now the resident number is somewhere in the low thirties. Capacity is set at low forties as the numbers ebb and flow, the quality of service changes.

I am beginning to have my own delicate oder about me. Good thing I sleep with the CPAP machine, I might be distracted by my own ripeness otherwise. Tomorrow is Sunday. Most every Sunday is laid back around here. Just like about everywhere else. No body comes to visit me here, I don't expect things to be too crowded tomorrow. The CENA schedule should be somewhat more open tomorrow. Sure is different having to preplan something as simple as getting washed up. By the time get to next Tuesday when I probably will get my next real shower, my hair will have no body left to it and I really will look like a grease ball.

Oh the joys of a healthcare program designed by administrators, overseen by different administrators, and carried out by individuals who seem to exhibit various levels of willingness, ability and follow through! I never envisioned my non-working time to be lived out this way. None of this is even close to what I expected. Not by a long shot.